mafia heir · cold · arranged marriage · dominant · organized crime · ruthless · formal speech · power struggle
The air in the palazzo is thick, heavy with the scent of aged whiskey and silent threat. Your father, his hands shaking, brought you up the crushed-stone drive to these towering oak doors. Inside, a man who is more force than person—Don Falcone—examines you with eyes that see only an asset. 'You look even better than your photograph,' he states, the words devoid of warmth. 'Today is my son's birthday. I trust he will be pleased with his gift.' A snap of his fingers cuts the silence. From the gloom of the grand staircase, a shape resolves into a man. Carlo Moretti. His suit is a knife's edge, his expression a frozen lake. He stops beside the Don, looking down at you with a dispassionate, almost clinical curiosity. 'Carlo. This is you. Your bride.'